


Flashback

by Pholo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, SHEITH - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 22:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12442707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pholo/pseuds/Pholo
Summary: Keith has a flashback in the middle of a battle. Shiro is there to comfort him. Takes place sometime in the future, with Keith in Red, Shiro in Black and Lance in Blue.





	Flashback

"Those shields are way too strong!" Hunk yells. "This is crazy; my canon barely made a dent!"

Another round of fire rebounds off the Galra ship. Voltron swoops to avoid a barrage of laser-fire; Pidge yelps at the onslaught. "I've never seen a particle barrier that strong!”

"They must have upgraded since our last fight."

A shot grazes Voltron's side. Shiro clenches his teeth. "Whatever the case, nothing's strong enough to withstand a direct hit from our sword." He squares his shoulders. "Keith?"

No response.

Shiro blinks. Voltron swings back from the ship's main canon; the team bobs between dashes of artillery fire. Shiro feels the stiffness of Voltron's right arm like a tick in his own limb.

“Keith,” he prompts, worried now. “What's wrong?”

Shiro can feel the team's distress through the Voltron mind meld. When Keith stays silent, his friends start to call out over the comms:

“Earth to mullet-head! What's the problem?”

“Keith, buddy, can you hear us?”

“Keith? Keith!”

Shiro guides Voltron farther from the Galra ship. He's aware that they only have a few moments before the Galra take advantage of the situation and engage their hyperdrive. Voltron can't afford to lose track of this cargo ship—but right now, Shiro could care less about the mission. Keith’s health will always take precedent. 

With the team's voices bouncing back and forth over the comms, Shiro pulls his focus inward. He preens apart the strings of Voltron's mental connection, seeking out the red thread that binds his mind to Keith's. It's an easy find, gleaming like an alarm light and trilling with anxiety. Shiro runs a mental finger down the thread—and is slammed by a wall of panic.

_I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die Shiro I'm sorry I'm so sorry—_

Fear knocks the wind from Shiro's chest; he's yanked out of the mind-meld almost at once. He buckles forward in his chair. Voltron shudders as the team's mental link strains. The remnants of Keith's thoughts run circles through Shiro’s head:

_Please let this work please forgive me I love you I love you I—_

“Shiro?” Allura's voice sounds from the Castle comm. “Shiro, what just happened? What's going on?”

“It's Keith,” Shiro manages. He stares through watery eyes as the Galran ship revs up for a leap. “I'm sorry, everyone; we'll have to fight this battle another day.”

“Is Keith okay?” Lance demands. “What happened?”

“I don't know. We need to get back to the Castle. Everyone, disband.”

There's a hearty whoosh, then a great wave of light as the Galra ship blinks from view. Shiro feels a vague pang at their failure, but only at the far reaches of his mind. He unclicks from the team meld, his lion re-materializing at the edge of the battlefield, and barrels straight for the Red Lion.

“I'll grab Keith. Allura, are you on your way?”

“We'll be right there, Shiro. Keep your channel open.”

 

 

Shiro drags the Red Lion by the scruff of the neck back to Black's hangar, the larger of the two ports. He guides Red down onto the metal floor; there's a gentle thump as he sets her down. As soon as his own Lion's feet graze the ground, Shiro scrambles from his cockpit. He blesses Black for her speed as he spills out onto the hangar floor.

The Red Lion's mouth is slightly ajar when Shiro reaches it. He thinks he hears his teammate's footsteps as he slips between her “teeth,” but he doesn't stop to turn. His friends seem to trust him to take care of Keith—or at least call for help if something is seriously amiss—because no one follows him through the gap.

It's cold in Red's cockpit. The whole cabin gleams under a dull, green light. The tone casts strange shadows on the floor. Shiro didn’t even know the Red Lion had a green feature. 

Uneven breaths rustle through the cabin. Shiro approaches Keith's chair.

Keith is hunched forward in his pilot's chair. His hands grip the controllers with white-knuckled grit, though Red has long since powered off her main grid. His eyes are wide, gaze fixed dead-ahead. As Shiro moves forward, Keith whips around. Shiro can't remember the last time he caught Keith off guard. He kneels before Keith's seat, slowly, and raises his hands towards Keith's clenched fingers.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, the sound barely above Keith's trepid breaths. His fingers threaten to make contact with Keith's wrists. “Can I touch you?”

For a moment, Keith doesn't seem to register Shiro's voice. His eyes remain glazed, his expression almost foreign in its distress. Then, slowly, he nods.

Shiro nods back. “Okay,” he says, and he bridges the gap between them, closing his hands over Keith’s clenched fingers.

It takes some time. At last Shiro coaxes Keith's fingers from the controllers. In a gentle progression, he guides Keith’s hands down onto his lap. He runs his fingers along the open plane of Keith's palms. Above his head, the controllers fizzle from view.

Keith's eyes follow Shiro's movements as he traces the line of Keith's fingers. His breathing is still a harried thing, reminiscent of a hummingbird's in its rapid fragility—but he seems to glean some semblance of comfort from Shiro's touch. Bit by bit, he sags forward towards Shiro where he kneels on the floor.

A long moment passes. Shiro gives Keith's hands the barest tug. An invitation. Keith's eyes flash; there's a moment of deliberation. Then Keith obliges, slinking from his chair. He joins Shiro on the floor, his bangs hiding his wet eyes, and allows Shiro to pry the armor from his arms and torso.

Red's cockpit is silent but for the Paladins' shared breaths. Shiro sets down Keith's armor, then sheds his own. He reaches for Keith's hands again, this time guiding him forward towards his chest.

Shiro maneuvers Keith across his lap so that his torso rests on his legs, his head pillowed in the crook of Shiro's elbow. Keith doesn't protest. Rather, he curls sideways, nestling into Shiro’s chest. 

Peace prevails for some time. Keith’s breaths even out, his shoulders slumping. Then he tenses. Keith squeezes his eyes shut against some terrible memory; his body starts to quake. Desperation overcoming caution, Shiro cards his free hand through Keith's hair.

“It's okay...it's okay. You're safe. I'm right here...”

Keith gasps on a breath. He turns his face down into Shiro's shirt. “We couldn't get through the particle barrier,” he croaks.

“I know. It's okay. It was only a cargo ship. We can—”

“There was no other way,” Keith protests. “Naxzela was about to blow. We would've lost Voltron, the Blades—almost the entire coalition.”  

The words echo back through Shiro's head:   _Please let this work...Please forgive me..._

No. He _didn't_. He wouldn't dare...

“Keith,” Shiro chokes out. His fingers still in Keith's hair; his heart sits like a stone in his chest.

“There was a chance my Galra cruiser could pierce the shields. I had to take it. I had to try.”

_I don't want to die..._

Shiro dwells on the red belly of the Galra cruisers; the dry heat of their cockpits. Suddenly he understands Red's light and temperature changes. Keith had suffered a flashback. Red had tried to distinguish herself from the fighter plane of Keith’s memory.     

“Keith,” Shiro repeats, rendered limp in his disbelief. He can't think; for a moment he can't move. Then his arms spasm around Keith's frame. He hugs the Red Paladin tight, desperate to feel his heartbeat against his chest, to be given proof of his realness. Keith trembles in Shiro's hold, his breath ghosting across the skin of his neck. Shiro commits the sensation to memory. He closes his eyes tight enough to see stars.

“It's okay,” Shiro murmurs. His fingers return to Keith's hair, combing through the strands. “You made it; you're still here. I've got you.”

Keith shudders. Shiro hums at him gently. He tilts his head to kiss him on the shoulder; Keith melts against his chest.  

“You're right here. You’re safe. _You’re safe_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come shout with me on Tumblr! I'm at mighty-trash.tumblr.com


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